20 Questions
by The Cold East Wind
Summary: Trapped in a cabin in a Swiss blizzard. Cluedo is not an option, how shall we pass the time?


"So, here we are." John turned from the storm outside the window and made an attempt to defuse the less than favorable situation they found themselves in. He knew that a frustrated caged Sherlock was not the man he wanted to be trapped with for the next however many days this storm had planned.

"Yes John I know! We should have left yesterday. I shouldn't have gone back to look at the body again. I should have seen it the first time." Sherlock whirled about as he spoke unconsciously trying to relieve some of his angry tension.

"Sherlock, I was just going to ask if you wanted a drink, since it looks like we're going to be here a while."

"Stupid, stupid!" Sherlock admonished himself loudly with his eyes closed tightly and his teeth clenched. He opened his eyes and glared hatefully at his surroundings stalking around the confines of the cabin.

"Don't do that. It's not your fault that the coroners report was incomplete. You couldn't have spotted that. You knew the man was lying, it just took a moment to put the pieces together." John set about pouring two rock glasses of rich amber liquor.

"But it was obvious that Dr. Harlow, and the coroner's were working together and I should have seen the puncture mark behind the ear, They have been killing patients and selling organs on the black market for years and I missed it! I missed it and I'm stupid." Sherlock was almost whining he was so distressed by his mistake.

"Well, I guess that makes us stupid together, because I'm a doctor and I missed it too." John stepped right in Sherlock's path and held a glass of scotch out to him. Sherlock huffed, his shoulders visibly relaxed, and his lips involuntarily kicked up at the corners. He took the glass and just before putting it to his lips said.

"Yes well if I'm going to be an idiot at lest I'm in good company." He winked at John and took a long sip.

John was already beginning to feel the warming effects of good scotch and Sherlock's playful wink was only adding fuel to a fire that John had been trying to bank for years. He often wondered if he burned alone. There were times when he was sure that he saw the same fire in Sherlock's mercurial eyes, saw some spark of shared desire. Sometimes when their eyes would find each other and the silence lingered a little too long the air would become heavy in his lungs, and his blood would buzz in his ears and he was certain that the fire would consume them both. But something always broke the spell, cooled the moment, pulled them apart. John took another sip and watched Sherlock's frustration wane. He threw himself dramatically onto the sofa and kicked up his feet.

"Now we're stuck here in this God forsaken wilderness..."

"I would hardly call this wilderness Sherlock. Your cousin's cabin is actually nicer than our flat."

"If you must know John, cousin Brandabas, calls this his shag cabin. Hence the copious amounts of liquor and the unrealistic supply of condoms."

"Dose everyone in your family have odd names?"

"That's your takeaway from what I just told you? Odd family names?" Sherlock chuckled, and sipped at his drink.

"Alright then, let's talk about the unrealistic supply of condoms." Now John was the one laughing, and he too took another sip, well on his way to a nice mellow.

Sherlock smiled at this and huffed a little. "Let's not and say we did. What are we going to do, stuck here in this oh-so-very cliche blizzard?"

John's mind had begun to wander toward his previous thoughts. Sherlock's innocent questions sounded anything but to John's brain which was currently enjoying cousin Brandabas's very fine scotch. "Humm?"

"Stuck in Switzerland. What do now?" Sherlock kicked off his shoes from his semi-reclined position on the sofa, taking long slow sips.

"You're not going to like it. But not much we can do really, except ride the storm out here and wait for your brother to come get us."

"Yes John all that was glaringly obvious. I was talking about now. With the time that we're cooped up. I don't suppose cousin Brandabas has a Cluedo game laying around somewhere."

"God save us from Cluedo!" John took a seat on the floor with his back leaned against one of the two leather chairs. They stood on either side of the sofa which was facing a fireplace almost large enough for John to stand up in. He kicked off his shoes, sat the bottle of scotch off to the side and let his head tilt back and to the side so he was facing Sherlock. "We could..." John rolled his hear side to side. "Oh, I know! We could play 20 questions."

"Sounds...interesting. How would it work?" Sherlock held out his long arm and shook his glass for a refill. John obliged and topped his own off as well.

"Well, I guess someone ask the other 20 questions. It's a pretty straightforward kind of game."

"So, no back and forth? " Sherlock waved a hand between them both.

"If you like." John licked his lips involuntarily.

"Nope. I think I'll let you get all of your predictable questions out of the way first."

"Twat!" John smiled.

"Yes yes, I know. Would you like to write your questions? Do you need time to compose yourself?"

"Shut it while I think of my first question." John closed his eyes, trying to think of all the things he had always wanted to know about Sherlock Holmes. 20 questions wasn't going to be enough he mused.

Sherlock watched John's face by the fire light. He looked peaceful, beautiful, Sherlock had long ago catalogued every line of this mans face, every dusky blond eyelash, John's lips curved into a soft smile and Sherlock realized that the watcher had become the watched.

"Hello." John's voice was soft, his demeanor relaxed and the ocean blue of his eyes was a tranquil sea. "Ready?"

"Off you pop." Sherlock returned John's smile, with a pretty one of his own.

1\. What do you find attractive in a woman?

"Really John? This is our starting point." Sherlock rolled his eyes and let his head fall back exasperated.

"Oh come on. When you see a woman and you find her attractive what is it that draws you to her?"

"To be perfectly honest. Nothing. I don't generally find woman attractive, admirable, yes but attractive? Not really my area."

"Ok. Soooo..."

"No. You don't get to change the original question or add to it."

"Fine. Well...ok. So. In light of new developments I guess it's an unfair question. Admirable then."

"Their strength. Women tent to be very strong both mentally and emotionally."

2\. What is your greatest weakness?

"Knees. Definitely. I'm fairly certain it's early onset rheumatoid arthritis."

"Not what I was expecting."

"You never said I had to be honest."

"You cheeky monkey! I shouldn't have to say."

"Fine. Complete and utter boring honesty from now on. "

"Ta."

3\. How many countries have you been to?

"Twelve. Counting this miserable place." Sherlock said in a bored tone.

John tipped his head toward the fire, and reached out to refill Sherlock scotch, handing it back to him he said.

"I don't know, it's not so bad." One corner of John's mouth turned up in a boyish grin. Sherlock found that he was drawn in by that smile and felt pleasantly compelled to return it as well.

"No. Really not that bad at all." The mood in the room was shifting, good scotch, better company and a surprisingly intimate game. John grinned and moved on to the next question.

4\. What's the worst thing you've done?

"A 7-percent solution." John made a face and tisked at his answer. Sherlock shrugged innocently. He'd thought it was funny.

"Keep giving me cheek, and I'll make the questions harder." John's warning was meant to be stern, but came out sounding tempting to Sherlock's ears. So Sherlock countered.

"So far the tameness of your question is as I had expected. I was merely trying to be the interesting one." Sherlock refilled both glasses, John having sat both his glass and the scotch bottle down within reach from the sofa.

5\. How many blankets do you sleep with?

"Tons. I'm always cold. Next question. And don't be boring." Sherlock, rose with all his languid feline grace from the sofa and padded across the room to rifle through cousin Brandabas's, drink selection. He came back with a crystal cut decanter of cognac. John watched the man sink down next to him on the floor and before he could stop himself the next question was out.

6\. What is your definition of intimate?

"This. Here like this, with you." Sherlock held his breath, eyes fixed on John's face which he loved so much, and he was surprised to see there an expression that he was wholly unfamiliar with. At first Sherlock, mistook it for anger, the heat in John's eyes was near blinding blue sparks and he could see the heavy rise and fall of Johns breath, Sherlock felt his own pulse flutter, as the word 'lust' blared loudly in his brain. Sherlock looked away. John quickly asked another question.

7\. Have you ever had a song or poem written for you?

"I have. It was a song, back in secondary school."

"Oh please God above tell me you still remember it?!"

"I do. But I doubt you would enjoy it as much as you think you would, John, it was a cruel little song thought up by idiotic prepubescent mongrels." A look creeped across John's face that Sherlock knew well. "We were children John. You can't go kill them."

"They're grown men now. So yes I can. All I need is names." John was all seriousness as he looked at Sherlock over the rim of his raised glass.

"You may need more than names. You may need a snowplow and a helicopter. Or have you forgotten where we are?" Sherlock took a sip, chuckled and ran a hand through his curls, something he rarely did and John couldn't help but wish it was his fingers tangled in the lush blackness.

"You win. For now. " John smiled.

8\. Do you like your name?

"As a matter of fact I do. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Sounds..."

"Posh." John offered immediately.

"Shut it Hamish!" John threw back his head and laughed rich throaty and crisp.

Sherlock's whole body shivered at the sound. In Sherlock's mind when John laughed the gods where pouring pearls down from Elysium, just for him. It took a moment for John's laughter to die down, when it did, his eyes fell on Sherlock and John gave a contented sigh. Still in a mischievous mood.

9\. Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

Sherlock snickered and rolled his eyes at the question.

"I've no idea." Sherlock's eyes sparkled playfully and he drank dismissively.

"Well. Go on then." John said with mock seriousness.

"What?" Sherlock's eyes wide and full of humor and disbelief.

"I require an answer." John took a sip and folded his arms.

"Oh bloody fine." Sherlock sat his glass down closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue and tilted his head back as if that would help. John laughed softly and places the tips of his fingers under Sherlock's up turned chin trying to help him reach. Sherlock opened his eyes and held John's stare, closing his mouth and bring his head back down. Their eye contact was dangerous, and John could see Sherlock's Adam's apple bob nervously. John's hand stayed in place just a second longer than necessary. His thumb brushed Sherlock's jawline and then it was gone. Sherlock sucked in a somewhat ragged breath and looked down into his glass.

"Next question." His voice sounded a little strangled.

10\. What is your favorite scent?

"It's a mixture of earl gray, oakmoss and...gun oil." Sherlock hesitated only slightly on the last sent, knowing it could be telling, but he didn't care. Or was it that he did care? Whichever the case, Sherlock felt the tranquil lull of the storm without and the one brewing within and released himself to it and all that it was.

John took in this information with a nod, and made a mental note to smell his cologne later.

11\. What's something you wish everyone knew about you?

"That genius isn't another word for inhuman."

The sadness of Sherlock's words was a gut punch to John, and he found himself wishing that all of Sherlock's past pains were his. When he'd first met Sherlock his brilliance had out shined his humanity at times, yet at others he was the picture of human kindness. And though he could be socially inept he was never cruel or hateful, unkind perhaps when provoked but never malicious. Malice was for fools. In truth everything that Sherlock did was an act of kindness. He didn't solve cases for notoriety or money. He did it to save lives. Sherlock looked down into his empty glass not ready to meet John's gaze. John had no words. What he did have was a near overwhelming need to hold Sherlock close and shield him from the world. And so he simply rested his hand on Sherlock's leg just above the knee and rubbed gently. Sherlock chanced a glance up and found a soft bright smile that spoke louder than any words could have. But John spoke the words anyway.

"I know." John almost whispered the words. And they were all Sherlock needed to hear. He felt his face go warm.

"Must we be so maudlin. Next question." There was a sparkle to Sherlock's clear eyes and John wasn't sure if it was tears or cognac.

12\. Favorite fiction book?

"I know this one." John said proudly.

"Really. Then why ask?"

"I think I know this one. Just answer the damn question."

"May I ask what you think it is?"

"Not really according to the rule book, but for you I'll bend the rules sure." Hell I'll shatter all the rules of this world for you. John wanted to say. "It's Shakespeare. The whole skull and all."

"Nope." Sherlock popped the "p" with a nice loud smack. John giggled. He always loved it when Sherlock did that. It was silly and endearing, not to mention just how lovely it made his already perfect Cupid's bow mouth.

"No? Come on!"

"Poe. Yes the skull is an homage, but not to The Bard. More to the macabre."

13\. Do you want children?

"I've never really given it much thought. Children have always seemed like something out of the question for me. Therefore a desire one way or the other made little difference."

"I don't know. You and a baby. Little boy, bright blue eyes. Thick curls. Maybe you should give it some thought. But for now considering what we do for a living maybe a dog. Children later, when things are less..."

"Dangerous?" Sherlock offered.

"Complicated." With a tilt of his head John raised his eyebrows in an unasked question.

Sherlock stood as John talked and took off his suit jacket and rolled up his cuffs before sitting back on the floor just a hair closer to John, now his long drawn out legs rested against John's from calf to thigh with Sherlock's toes occasionally brushing at John's waistband. The first contact make John giggle, the second made him burn. He shuddered to think what the third would do.

Sherlock had not missed John's use of the word "we" and he felt a thrill at the implications. Would that same "we" be pondering the thought of children one day? No, Sherlock couldn't think that John wanted those things with him. But why had he said we? It made no sense. John's next question snapped Sherlock's mind back.

14\. How do you sleep?

"Rarely."

"Arse. On your side? Back? JimJams? Pants?"

"All of the above and none of the above." Sherlock was all cheek. And John thought it was gorgeous.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" A smile in John's voice. Sherlock found himself trying to stifle a laugh and sip scotch simultaneously with dignity, and found it was an exercise in futility. He wound up sputtering and giggling, which sent John into a fit of his own. They spent the next couple of minutes trying and failing to right themselves and behave like adults. Finally Sherlock gained enough control to speak albeit breathless and teary eyed.

"Alright, alright. What was the question? Something about sleeping. Yes. Okay. So how do I sleep? Yes? I sleep...all over, and naked. All of the above and none of the above. There."

"There indeed." John raised his glass and offered to refill Sherlock's. He tilted his head in thanks and accepted.

"Next question."

15\. Do you have a type?

"Yes."

"Just yes? No yes I like this or that, just yes. Dull." John shot Sherlock a glance to see if he knew that John was doing an impression of him. But of course he did. Clever boy. John was pleased and grinned.

"Male." Sherlock glared at him, with a hint of impishness. John felt awash in heat at the single telling word.

"Not your area."

"Not my area. But why? Why is this part of me, this part of my life so important to you? Why do you care?"

"Because...I just don't want you to be alone. You're a good man Sherlock, you should be happy."

"Oh John don't be silly, I am happy. I have you." The words where meant to sound causal and lighthearted. But to John they were profound. To John they meant that everything he wanted for Sherlock was right there in him. His mind spun with possibly. John chose his next question with care.

16\. What would be a question you would be afraid to tell the truth to?

"John." Sherlock's voice was imploring. He knew that John was going to pull the truth from him, he'd danced too close to the edge of it and John knew Sherlock's defenses were breached. All he could do was make a play for mercy. There would be none. John had seen the crack in the wall, and he meant to see it brought down. John fixed him with a look. Sherlock felt as if John had reached into his chest and taken a gentle hold of his heart. It was terrifying. It was John. "Are we a couple." John let the answer stand. He understood what it meant. Sherlock NEVER said a word when someone insinuated they were together. John had long since stopped wondering why, he'd speculated that it was because it made Sherlock uncomfortable, but John had never allowed himself to think about why. He had a good idea why. Actually better than good. He knew. Just as sure as he knew why he himself denied it so vehemently. The truth of it had been hard for John to face, but face it he had. And now it seemed that the young detective was ready to face it as well.

17\. How do you feel in this very second?

"Revealed." Sherlock upended his glass, like a man resolved to his fate.

18\. How can I win your heart?

Sherlock huffed a laugh.

"Breathe. " Sherlock found his voice, but just barely. "Next question."

19\. Have you ever been in love?

"Yes." Sherlock didn't hesitate. There was no point.

20\. Is it with me?

"Yes." Again, there was no space between ask and answer. Silent tears rolled over classic cheekbones.

"Why are you crying?"

"That's 21."

"Answer it."

"Because I'm afraid." John felt the time for words was over.


End file.
